Warcraft: Descent of the Golden Age Redux
by TheJackinati275
Summary: (AU) In the First War, Humanity learnt the cost in men when it came to fighting against Orcs... they turned to that invention from the Dwarves that consisted of a tube filled with an explosive and a ball... In the Second War, The Humans began to learn how best to utilize this invention to best cover any loses they may sustain... But how will they fare in the Third War?


Warcraft: Descent of the Golden Age (Redux)

* * *

Disclaimer: Warcraft owned by Blizzard Entertainment

In the First War, Humanity learnt the cost in men when it came to fighting against Orcs... they turned to that invention from the Dwarves that consisted of a tube filled with an explosive and a ball... In the Second War, The Humans began to learn how best to utilize this invention to best cover any loses they may sustain... But how will they fare in the Third War?

* * *

Year 617 of the Kings Calendar, aboard a 48 gun Ship of the line. On her back titled in a white font, 'Shadowmourne's Breath'.

Admiral Marlowe Mullen, a man of some forty years, with his greying reddish hair, his mutton chops and his narrow figure donned all in a scarlet coat that was adorned with a brass buckle strap and a blue diagonal ribbon and golden tassel's that hung off his shoulders demonstrating his rank. There was also a small golden fob-watch hanging from one of his side pockets, the golden chain gleamed in the glare of the mid-day sun.

Admiral Marlowe couldn't help but be amazed at Humanity's progress, and by extension the Dwarve's technological progress as well. Just some thirty years ago, strapping young lads like the marines aboard his vessel would have once donned plate and been provided with swords and shields, that is if they bore some semblance of 'fighting blood' which is to say, if they were higher up than a 'peasant' by social hierarchy. Now anybody could join, now they all wore wool coats coloured in madder red, whilst they now used human manufactured musket's, replacing the mundane old days of sword and shield for the inherent killing power of musketry. Repeated combat drills replaced the old days of training one man at a time until each were expert martial artists... or some equivalent thereof, now the power of a nation rested solely on the amount of guns and cannons that that nation could field at any one time, and in having the people to use them.

The power equality had changed, no matter what the backward nobles thought about it. Now the lords, knights and their retinues from Lordaeron were being replaced by musket armed militia forces who had even more of an impact at the call to battle. The cavalry charge, whilst still a factor, where no longer as important as they were previously. A charge to the front rank of an enemy would get you full of holes, and attacking men in a bayonet square was out of the question. Melee battles now consisted mostly of bayonet charges... and praise the Dwarves for the enchantments that they place upon the tips of the bayonets.

It was interesting just how much things had changed in thirty years and all for the better in Marlowe's eyes. Human swordsmen were weaker than Orc's on an individual basis, but a single gunman could kill an Orc with a single well placed shot, or maim them with a bad shot... all at an acceptable range. Armour was going away from most front-line, non-elite soldiers as it could not repel the power of musket balls from up close, unless the plates were enchanted. The King of Lordaeron decided, against the wishes of his council and knights, to reform his armies. The King of Lordaeron raised up a levy of men and, with pocketing out with own money, created several warehouses and manufacturer's to manufacture and supply firearms and cannon to his new levies. This core body of men, this militia levy evolved, things were learned, orcs were killed. Now it was a standing army, the best in the world, in fact. Soldiers were now cheaper to maintain, mass produced muskets over hand crafted swords and armour. The wind had turned, the leaves were beginning to fall. Now it was the common man who could, within less than a month, have the power to kill a knight with a musket. Such a powerful thing, this advantage in power, and only Lordaeron could field it, since for the others to start up in such a way would be a very expensive, time-consuming endeavor. The other kingdoms besides for the dwarves were thus behind the times, who's to say they wouldn't eventually be conquered by Lordaeron?

What better way was there to demonstrate the power of the musketman than during the second war?

There was a battle where the King of Lordaeron had his levy brought forward. They fired in massed blocks of men, rows changing up once they had been brought forward to fire. Orcs got killed. But then, in another battle, one thought it would be better if he could have the first rank kneeling after they had fired so that the second rank could fire over them, and so on and so forth, until the first rank had loaded, and so the efficiency had increased.

After the second war, when the Orc's were put in their camps, several eager Lordaeron officers sought to improve their soldiers and devised ways to drill their troops, to teach their men the importance of rank and file, when to march and when to load, when best to give fire and when not to. What was learned through the past battles was put to book. Now the men were better, more efficient and decisive. Guns were the way forward, there was no way to change this, despite how the other kingdoms and races felt.

But Marlowe began to clear away at those thoughts, he had a task at hand. It was high time that he went to see Jaina Proudmore, something about searching for a hidden land to the west.

Marlowe had misgivings about the whole situation, he had only recently heard about the reasons for the journey in the first place, but no one on board told him anything further, and his marines alike knew next to nothing. Marlowe did not like being left out of the loop.

"Admiral Marlowe, how goes our journey to the west?"

Admiral Marlowe turned to face the speaker, who by the tone of the voice he could tell that it emerged from the very person that he wanted to see, miss Jaina Proudmore.

"What a coincidence, you were just the person that I wanted to see, Madam."

Jaina proudmore walked up close to the Admiral before speaking.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes Madam, I wanted to discuss why you want to travel west. I know of several voyages sent through to explore the seas in that direction, but have not heard of one of them returning. As it stands, there ought to be nothing to the west except for boundless ocean, or perhaps worse."

Jaina looked puzzled for a second, but then she just looked into Marlowe's eyes and spoke.

"That, I am afraid... is something that I must keep a secret."

Admiral Marlowe did not like that explanation.

"Land Ahoy... Land Ahoy!"

Admiral Marlowe turned to look up at the lone man on the main mast who issued the shout. He was pointing his hand out in a westerly direction.

Admiral Marlowe followed the direction of the mans gesturing hand and reached out in one of his pockets to a small brass tube, tapped upon it until all sections were out and brought the device over to his eye.

Jaina was right, it seemed, there was in fact land to the west. This realization set something else free in Marlow's mind. _'What else could lay further still, what still remains unexplored... the possibilities are endless.'_.

What Marlowe saw was a distant shore, surrounded by palm trees out further in the distance. Marlowe guessed that, at current speed, they would make land fall in about ten minutes.

Marlowe set the telescope back into it's original stated and returned it back to one of his pockets. He then turned to face Jaina, where he issued one statement.

"Miss Proudmore, it seems you were right. This is a western island, perhaps a continent even... and we have found it."

Jaina looked at the Admiral before replying back.

"I want you to beach these vessels, Admiral. We aren't going back the way we came from, not anymore."

Admiral Marlowe halted, his face turning red with anger.

"Surely you did not just order me... _me,_ to beach my vessel, to beach the fleet? Do you have any idea how much these ships cost to build, the amount of manpower that went behind each ship!?"

Jaina knew exactly how much they cost, and how long it took to build them... but there would be no going back to Lordaeron, and Jaina needed the cannon's and the marines aboard these vessels, as well as the manpower to quickly begin construction of new buildings.

"There will be no going back to Lordaeron, you will beach these ships. If the enemy were ever to to find out that we have escaped here, they would bring the plague, the scourge with them. You will beach these ships Admiral, and then I will need you and your men to aid in the construction of new buildings, homesteads and fortifications."

This was the first time that Marlowe had heard of any plague or scourge, but he was not going to press the issue, not when he had to beach his own vessels... especially 'Shadowmourne's Breath', the girl had done a few impressive things back in her day, and she saw a bit of fighting, and it would hurt Marlowe just to have her beached, her planks broken apart and used to make new houses and buildings... it didn't sit right with Marlowe. But like always, he had his orders and he would see that they were done.

"If I may speak, madam. I insist that you leave one vessel behind to scout around this place. Going headfirst into a place without intel is going to lead to trouble. I also would like to say that we have only a few skilled laborers and craftsmen. As so, there won't be much that we could possibly aid towards the construction ashore."

Jaina had to agree with the Admiral's decision. She believed that her brother would be the best candidate for scouting onwards.

"Admiral, I recommend that my Brother and his vessel be the one left behind, to explore as you have said previously."

Admiral Marlowe sighed. _'Nepotism, huh... fucking nobles.'_

* * *

Admiral Marlowe checked his watch before he shouted a command to the Ninth Regiment that stood out over fifty meters away, and alongside him stood Jaina Proudmoore, standing at attendance.

"Procession... at attendance."

Commander Byrne Blackwood of the ninth regiment of 'His Highness's Foot' raised his longsword tip out from under his shoulder. It was customary that a commander would wear plate armour and wield a longsword as well as a pistol, no doubt as a defiant remainder of the old days.

"Forward...March!" came the bellow from Byrne.

All across, the ninth regiment of 'His Highness's Foot' suddenly paced through to the procession. All men were dashed in madder-red coats, the brass buckles and buttons all festively maintained and shiny. Every man had a white ribbon tying their hair back into neat ponytails whilst their tricornes gathered the eyes and envies of many a man on the foreshore, the drummers and fifer's playing his highness's tune as the soldiers all marched in equal, cadenced steps. It finally came to an end when the formation of troops stopped roughly ten meters to the right of Admiral Marlowe Mullen, the drummers and fifers still playing their tunes whilst the soldiers stood up stock still and straight, facing the foreshore and the beached hulls of the four vessels stuck in the sandy shore.

Vice-Admiral Tandred Proudmoore was envious of the power that Admiral Marlowe wielded, and he wanted to have such power himself.

Admiral Marlowe turned to face Jaina Proudmoore, quickly speaking into her ear.

"My lady, as you were the one to issue the order to find this island in the first place, I feel it right that you should have the honour in naming this island yourself"

Jaina Proudmoore was shocked... she had no idea on what to call the island, but she had to quickly think up of a name or else she would ruin the procession.

"I will call the land... Theramore Isle"

With the name on his lips, Admiral Marlowe began to recite his speech within his head so that every detail would be stored within his head, and when he was sure that everything would go well... he raised his voice to speak out to the assembled crowd, it was impassioned with the essence inside of his chest... his pride for his nation.

"I, Admiral Marlowe Mullen, son of Lorne Mullen, at the time of 4:32 of the afternoon, on the month of April the 3rd, of the Year 617 of the kings calendar, do so proclaim in the name of our sovereign king, Terenas Menethil II, that this land and all that surround it shall henceforth be known as Theramore Isle... honor be to thee, Our sovereign king, and forever Lordaeron be..."

Admiral Marlowe began to issue out an order to the flag bearers that stood nearby.

"Raise high the standard of Lordaeron, and never let it fall into the hands of our enemies, nor let it be trampled upon. May the flag of Lordaeron rise forever!"

And so the flagbearers raised the flag of Lordaeron, and every man and woman except the soldiers began to shout out with pride.

"Light Save The King!"

Commander Byrne Blackwood of the ninth regiment began to issue further orders.

"Make ready."

The first rank began to kneel whilst all the other soldiers began to raise up their muskets into their shoulders, with the soldiers of the first rank quickly following suite.

Commander Byrne held out his longsword high into the sky.

"Present Arms!"

The soldiers raised up their muskets vertically in the air.

"Fire!"

Commander Byrne lowered his sword to be greeted with the sound of loud crackles and pops distinctive of musketry, flocks of birds flew away from the nearby tree's and animals were disturbed.

 _'The Theramore Isles are born... now what?'_ Marlowe thought, sullenly.

Admiral Marlowe took off his admiral's badge and began to walk up to Vice-Admiral Tandred Proudmoore and spoke into his ear.

"Vice-Admiral Tandred, I want you to take your vessel and several hundred men, your mission is to search the surrounding area, to see if there are islands or indeed a western continent, and then to send an expeditionary party to explore inland. You will relay back if there is anything of use to the colony... I expect a report back when you arrive, Vice-Admiral."

Admiral Marlowe handed Tandred with his badge before continuing to speak.

"Or should I call you Admiral now?"

Tandred looked astounded.

"But what about you..."

Marlowe pointed his finger to the beached ship that was once his vessel.

"A good Admiral always goes down with the ship, so it is said. I find that my fate and her's are to be the same, like a beached whale. I fear that I won't move anywhere, and that I will be stuck down the sinkhole for quite some time. You have your orders do you not, Mr Proudmore!"

Admiral Tandred quickly rushed off in excitement, leaving Admiral Marlowe behind to sigh at his fate.

* * *

One Week Later.

* * *

Stephen Silversun, Non-commision officer who was easily distinguished by his slightly longer and sharper ears and by his slightly different complexion, was wading through the marsh. His legs and feet, all the way up to his knee was wet with sticky mud and fetid water and who knows what, irritated him to no end.

He wanted before anything else to be out of this mess and back on the ship, but he had an order to examine the land and relay back information on what he had found so that the higher ups could form decisions on what to do towards colonizing certain parts of the land.

Stephen was tasked with leading a platoon of forty-two men that were roughly composed of four squads each with eight soldiers. There was one drummer, but in each squad their were four marines out of eight, with the other four being land-soldiers. Stephen was mostly leading men of the 10th 'Lordearon Company' as a sergeant major, it would not be his first time leading a small number of about fifteen men... however it would be his first time leading a force of men numbering over forty, so he hoped that the men would not be troublesome. He was more than sure that the squad leaders would do most of the straightening out and leave Stephen to the job of leading the men through the expedition.

"This land is terrible, what good could possibly rest in this dreadful place." Stephen heard from a nearby soldier.

Stephen had to agree, there was nothing here of value, and he would state the exact same sentence in his report. He would have to find a place that was less damp to set up a camp, somewhere in the marsh with dry land. Then he would return back to the ship by tomorrow an hour before noon.

Stephen quickly gave his brass lob-watch a quick check, it was roughly 3 o'clock and he wanted to be on dry land before sunset... or else they would all be sleeping on grass and rock for that night, so he spoke up to the men as such.

"Platoon... we are to reach dry land before sunset or we are to sleep in mud."

Nobody replied to Stephens statement, and every man seemed to walk faster through the sludge. Surely no man wanted to sleep in a muddy environment.

Stephens day was made slightly harder about ten uneventful minutes later, when he heard a muffled scream emerge from one of the men in the ranks, followed by the splashing of water.

Stephen's large ears flicked slightly, he had better hearing due to his high-elven heritage, and he heard something like a hissing sound... this was not good.

Stephen turned around to face his men when he spotted their frightened faces. Dry land sat roughly forty meters away in the distance, and it would be his objective to get to it so that he could get his men to form up in ranks and identify what caused the situation.

"Squad Leaders! staggered column forward forty paces, on the right... March!"

The single drummer donned in a mustard-yellow coloured uniform with several white stripes, began to beat his drum in a rhythm with which the soldiers would know what to do and would march at the set pace.

Everyone began to pace themselves as quickly as possible through the marsh, but the sticky marshland slowed down their pace to a snails pace, it took roughly a minute before the men even reached land... and by then Stephen had heard of two more men struggling against some unseen opponent.  
But, now that the men had reached dry land... Stephen would now be able to turn things around.

"All squads join together, Form square!"

Stephen stood in the middle whilst his men quickly formed up in two ranks in a small square formation, with the first ranks kneeling with their muskets held vertically, whilst the second rank stood up high with their muskets also facing vertically towards the sky.

"Fix bayonets."

Bayonets where a new weapon invented during the middle of the second war. Back then, they were knives shoved down the muzzle, but now they consisted of a short socket nub and a dagger-like blade which where attached at the end of a musket where the tips where always enchanted by Dwarves to improve the penetrating ability of the blades. They were much cheaper to use and easier to make then a sword and made the musket much more effective by providing foot-troops a weapon of which they could dismount or kill a mounted warrior with much greater ease... instead of quickly switching from a gun and pulling out a sword in front of packed ranks of other men was never truly ideal, with the bayonet fixed, one could just continue forward and stab an opponent to death.

The clinking and clanking of metal contacting against metal calmed the soldiers nerves as they began to fall upon their honed training over the rising fear in their stomachs.

Stephens ears flicked again. He heard the crashing of water and the sound of feet impacting against wet sand, and although Stephen could not see what was creating the noise due to his men obscuring his line of sight, he knew that it was likely something hostile.

"All squads... make ready!"

All the soldiers began to shoulder their muskets, each one half-cocked their muskets and had a bayonet attached, the enchantment's on the tip made the end's light up in a slight purplish tinge.

"Sarge... there is some huge lizard sir... do I shoot it?!"

Stephen listened to what the frightened soldier had said an he began to weight his options... their was really only one option, he would issue to his the squad officers to have their men to give platoon firing upon any sighted enemies.

"All squads, prepare arms."

The drummer beat his drum whilst the soldiers held out their muskets horizontally, all soldiers issuing a shouted warcry at that same moment.

"Huzzah!"

When the drummer finished drumming, Stephen issued his orders.

"Squad leaders... platoon firing... fire when they are close enough that a hit is guaranteed."

Stephen ear's picked up another hissing sound.

"Hhhssssiiiiiisssssss-"

Three soldiers from the front ranks issued their shots, followed by the moans of a dead animal. Bird's from the nearby plants scattered off, and then more hissing sounds were heard.

This time the shots came from another side of the square, but before Stephen could distinguish where, he heard more shots.

Eventually, everything went quiet, except for the scraping sounds caused by the ramrod's of those reloading their muskets, or for the tearing of cartridge paper.

Then that quiet moment was torn apart by the sounds of more men firing their muskets, this time from multiple sides of the square.

Deep inside, Stephen knew that this would be a long day... to hell with setting up a camp, they would have to fight to stay alive... and Stephen knew exactly what his report would say... 'Dustwallow Marsh, avoid at all costs. Here abounds giant fucking crocodiles'.

Of course, he would omit the profanities.


End file.
